


Across the Years and Over the Seas

by MistressCorndog



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya Returns, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Not sure why, One Shot, Post-Canon, Romance, Trying to work with Season 8, lord gendry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 08:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19225420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressCorndog/pseuds/MistressCorndog
Summary: In the beginning, he would secretly hope she’d ride up one day and he would be able to tell her that he didn’t want her to be a lady, he just wanted her.  He wanted to see her small smiles and feel her hands on his skin.  He wanted to kiss every scar on her body and show her how beautiful she was to him.  As the days passed, his hope began to fade, and then he learned she sailed off to explore the west.  She wasn’t going to come see him. He was alone.





	Across the Years and Over the Seas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first time I have posted a fanfic in YEARS. I am an avid reader, but I have always had trouble putting down all of the ideas swimming in my head. But after the season finale this haunted me until I sat down and wrote half of this monster in once night! I am disappointed in Season 8, but I can't be too mad. They made Arya and Gendry canon! I want to thank you sister for taking the time to beta for me; she probably thinks I am a freak now. Please leave me some feedback, I would love to know what you think! Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

                He spent his first year as Lord Baratheon simply learning how to be a lord.  He had been a bastard his whole life—a no one.  Gendry Waters, a low-born bastard blacksmith from Flea Bottom, was now a lord.  He never wanted to be a lord; he just wanted to be _somebody_.  He wanted to have a name to claim and to belong to someone, to a family.

_I can be your family._

                His life changed when he was sold to the Night’s Watch.  Gendry began to walk a path he never would have anticipated.  The path lead him to learn that he was not only a high-born bastard but the bastard of a king.  He fought the dead and lived.  He made friends and lost friends.  He met a boy who was really a girl, Arry.  _Arya_.  Thinking her name caused his chest to tighten and a heavy ball of regret coiled within him.  He thought of her every day that first year.  First, it was with hurt and shame and anger.  The hurt ripped open every night as he laid in his too soft bed and thought of her.  The shame he felt because, even though he was made a lord, she didn’t want him.  Shame that he had thought he was good enough for her.  He was so angry with himself, with her, and with the fucking hierarchy that raised him to feel this way. 

Eventually, he came to realize he was a fool, and Arya had done nothing but stay true to herself.  In all their years together on the road, she had told him that she was no lady.  He knew she felt that way and still he asked her to be his lady as he laid his heart bare.  He never had anything to offer her before and foolishly assumed that having a title and lands would suddenly make her want to be with him as much as he wanted to be her.  He remembered her soft smiles and kisses as she refused his proposal as gently as she could.  She never meant to hurt him, but that didn’t help dull the pain.

                Even through all the hurt, he still wanted her.  In the beginning, he would secretly hope she’d ride up one day and he would be able to tell her that he didn’t want her to be a lady, he just wanted _her_.  He wanted to see her small smiles and feel her hands on his skin.  He wanted to kiss every scar on her body and show her how beautiful she was to him.  As the days passed, his hope began to fade, and then he learned she sailed off to explore the west.  She wasn’t going to come see him. He was alone.

                So he spent his days pouring himself into learning his new lands and people.  They were distrustful, and rightfully so.  He stayed up late and woke early to work hard and win their trust.  He traveled to see all the houses of his bannermen.  Early mornings he had lessons to learn his letters, which caused his head to throb.  He could smith the most glorious things, but he wasn’t that smart.  He was always better with his hands.  So he used his hands.  He helped in the fields when needed and worked in the forge when able.  Eventually, the people began to warm to him.  Someone suggested he marry from one of the houses in the Stormlands to help unite the people towards him.  The thought caused his throat to tighten because he didn’t want to marry unless it was with Arya.  But he hadn’t seen Arya in almost a year, and the only time she came to him was in his dreams.  Some days, he would wake with glimpses of her pale skin and sounds of her breathy sighs and would take himself in hand until he laid spent on the bed feeling even more empty and alone than he had before. 

                He married in his second year of being Lord Baratheon.  She was a comely woman with light brown hair and brown eyes born into the houses of the Stormlands.  With the marriage, the Stormlands began to settle and accept their new lord.  With her help at Storms End, he was finally able to rest and the perpetual exhaustion he had carried in his first year began to fade.  Out of the marriage born of duty grew a friendship.  He didn’t love her and he didn’t believe she loved him, but mutual respect was held and he was no longer alone. 

                Eventually, his thoughts of Arya became more spaced.  He felt guilty having a wife and thinking of another woman, so he did his best to move on.  After several months, he mentioned her quietly to his wife.  She smiled kindly, sadness filling her eyes for him and she asked him to talk about her.  It was cathartic being able to tell someone about what had happened and she held him as he cried and bore him no ill will for not loving her instead.  Their marriage and friendship grew from it.

                The first time she was with child, they didn’t know until after the bleeding started and the babe was lost.  He held her then as she wept with sadness pressing heavy on his chest. 

                The second time she was with child, she missed two moon bloods and, though she felt sick, her eyes were alight with joy.  His heart beat fast when he looked at her belly, fear and hope threatening to overwhelm him.  When the bleeding started, her wails could be heard through the whole castle.

                A hushed sorrow spread across Storms End and his wife lay in bed for weeks, her despair palpable when he walked in the room.  He did the best he could to comfort her, but truthfully he was just as broken on the inside.  They didn’t lie together for months after that, giving themselves time to heal.  Gradually, the light came back in his wife’s brown eyes and Storms End began to return to normalcy before the babe was lost.

                In his third year as Lord Baratheon, his wife became with child again.  They felt no joy, only fear in the early months.  But as her belly swelled and she reached her fifth moon, they allowed themselves to harbor excitement.  Gendry would come in at the end of the day and press his hands to her belly and murmur softly to the babe inside.  His wife glowed and they were happy.  The babe came early in her eighth moon.  He paced outside the door listening to her cries and shrieks; the murmurs of the maester’s calming words he couldn’t hear.  People rushed in and out of the room and Gendry felt fear and dread settle in his bones.  After many hours, the maester found him with his head in hands in front of the fire.  The babe was stillborn and his wife had died during childbirth.  She bled too much and they couldn’t stop it.  Some said the grief of losing another child had taken her life.  He was alone again.

                His fourth year as Lord Baratheon was a blur.  He threw himself into his work to distract himself from the pain of his loss.  The soul-crushing loneliness and grief was almost overwhelming.  But he had a duty to his people and he would fulfill that duty.

                In his fifth year, they asked him to take another wife.  _It had been a year,_ they told him. He needed an heir.  Gendry refused.  He would give as much as he could for his people, but he wasn’t ready to give that part of himself again.  He allowed himself to think of Arya.  It had been five years since he last saw her.  Memories of her were no longer painful but instead held sadness and warmth.  He wondered where she was and if she found the adventure she was looking for.  It was weeks after he thought of her that he was hailed to a rider at the gate.  He stood at the gate with his guards to greet them. 

                As the rider approached him, his heartbeat began to pound in his chest like his hammer on an anvil.  Her skin was tanned and her hair was longer in a single plait down her back.  The leathers she wore were lighter than before, a strange style he had never seen, but Needle and Cat’s Paw still hung at her waist.  Her grey eyes lifted and met his, the same hue he remembered; the stormy hue that he could never forget.  _Arya_.  The silence between them was tense. Her face was stoic until her eyebrow quirked in question, a look that catapulted him back to the forges of Winterfell and left him with the sensation of falling.

                “Lord Baratheon.”

                He wanted to run to her and envelope her in his arms.  His hands itched to hold her.  Her voice had a husky tone and he was startled to realize he had forgotten her voice.  The sound made his hands tremble, so he clasped them behind his back to hide from her sight.  He hesitated, staring at her, watching amusement and uneasiness flit across her face.  He hadn’t felt so lost and inadequate since his first year at Storms End.  Clearing his throat, he managed a weak “Lady Stark.”

                “Don’t call me that,” she fired back immediately. 

                He smirked, giddiness rising in his throat and performed a half bow, “As M’lady commands.”  Her smile quirked, eyes alight with mischief.  She slowly approached him as if afraid she would scare him like a wild animal.  He wasn’t sure she was entirely wrong.  Her hand reached up and gently gripped his shoulder, the other snaking along his side as she pulled him down for a hug.  He tentatively put his arms around her and closed his eyes, breathing in her scent.  Salt clung to her hair and skin and she smelled of the sea. 

                They stepped away slowly, the uneasiness fading and smiled at each other.  She spoke first, “I only just arrived a few days past and was wondering if I may be able to rest here.”

                “You are always welcome here Arya,” he replied, heart still pounding.  She nodded and her body seemed to relax even further as she asked where she could board her horse.  He left her with an invitation to dinner and a promise to have someone come and show her to her chambers.  He instructed the staff to prepare her a room and bath and left to go to his chambers.  He shut the door and leaned against it, breathing heavy as if he had made the run beyond the wall again.  All these years and she could still leave him breathless.

                The conversation was stilted throughout dinner and he did his best to avoid staring at her.  She had left her hair down with a single knot pulling it away from her face and her skin seemed to have lightened a shade without the dust of travel settled on her skin.  She was still so beautiful and he couldn’t help but think about the way her skin had tasted under his tongue.  When dinner was done he offered her wine by the fire and they sat quietly, slowly beginning to learn each other again.  She told him she had docked her ship for repairs and was going to wait out the stormy season before departing again.  His stomach clenched at the thought of her spending weeks here.  He told her she was welcome to spend as long as she needed to at Storms End and she smiled with gratitude.  Eventually, she stood and excused herself, stating that she was weary and wished to retire. He walked her to her chambers and bid her goodnight.

                He slept restlessly, tossing and turning and unable to send her from his mind.  Why was she here after all this time?  His emotions were conflicted, switching from joy to confusion to frustration.  He had finally purged her from his system and now she was back, seeping her way into his blood like poison.  Finally, he tossed his linens away with a huff as the pale light of dawn began to crest the sky and dressed in his working clothes.  He was determined to beat some of his feelings into submission against his anvil.  Walking out into the yard, he saw Arya was already awake and dressed, gracefully swinging Needle through a beautiful dance.  His heart squeezed as he soaked in the sight of her, sunlight streaming from behind her and her long single plait of hair dancing against her back she moved.  Her face was peaceful and her demeanor calm.  It clashed with the deadly moves she practiced, and he was reminded again that she was a killer—the Bringer of Dawn—and again felt so inadequate.  He turned and stalked away towards his forge, his simmering anger requiring him to beat something.

                He wasn’t sure how long he had worked when he saw her leaning against the wall in the forge.  She was silent and deadly, staring at him with an unreadable look on her face.  “I am going to explore the Stormlands,” she stated.  “I have never been here before.”

                Placing his tools down, he wiped his hands on a rag and turned to fully face her.  “Would you like me to show you Storms End?” She shook her head no and replied, “I explore best on my own.”  He felt the anger and hurt from when he first learned she had sailed away to explore in solitude rise again; like she took a knife to the freshly healed scar and sliced it open again.  He scoffed and turned, picking up his tools again, then returned to his work roughly.

                He felt her hand on his elbow gently, but firmly turning him towards her.  “I only meant that… I am used to being alone, doing things on my own.  You are a lord now and have duties more important than showing me around,” she softly stated. “I wish to explore, but I don’t want to take away from your people.”  They stared, her eyes imploring him to believe her, hand still resting on his elbow.  Gods he wanted to kiss her so bad.  He nodded and her hand slid off his arm, resting on the hilt of her dagger.  “I will see you at dinner?” she tentatively questioned.  He nodded again and she offered him another soft smile before turning and walking out of the forge.

                They settled into a routine.  In the mornings, Arya would practice her water dancing in the courtyard, then gather a lunch and leave to explore.  Gendry would perform his duties or work in the forge.  At night they would meet for dinner and then sit by the fire and talk.  She told him of her adventures, the lands she explored, and people she had met.  He told her of learning to be a lord and the years that followed, avoiding talking about his dead wife and with pity in her eyes she didn’t ask.  This went on for days, the pair slowly relaxing into an easy friendship again, and he no longer felt so helplessly alone.  He noticed that her demeanor was somewhat softer than before she left.  She was still stoic and lethal, but easier to smile and laugh.  They would banter as they did on the Kings Road; Arya would push his shoulder when he called her m’lady and scathingly reply “ _M’lord._ ”  He would grimace and raise his hands in surrender, but it didn’t stop him from saying it again with a twinkle in his eye.

                One night as they sat by the fire, Arya threw her head back and laughed as Gendry told her about one of the many blunders he made at the beginning of his lordship.  She reached out and gripped his bare forearm as she reveled in her mirth, eyes twinkling as her laughter died down.  “I haven’t laughed like that in years.”  Her smile still in the corner of her mouth and she gazed up at him.  Her hand was still on his arm, searing his skin and his pulse thudded hotly in his throat.  She squeezed his arm gently, her expression changing to something that sent pinpricks across his skin.  Abruptly, she dropped her hand and stood.  “I am going to bed.”  His body ached as she walked away. She stopped in the doorway and turned around.  “Are you going to walk me to my room?” she murmured, expression blank.  He waited for three heartbeats before standing and walking to her side.

                They walked together in silence, the air thick and his skin hot.  When they reached her door she reached for it, before pausing and letting her hand fall again.  She turned to him, staring up with heat in her eyes.  He could see her heartbeat pulsing in her neck and watched her chest rise and fall rapidly with each breath.  He reached out and brushed his fingers down the bounding pulse in her neck, watching her eyes close and feeling her swallow thickly under his fingertips.  “Gendry…” she whispered as he slowly dragged his fingers up her neck and across her jawline.  Something inside him snapped, knowing at that moment that he would give her anything, his entire being, and when she finally left again he would break and never recover.

                He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers.  He felt her sigh against his lips and he groaned, gripping her hair and pulling her head back so he could kiss her the way he dreamed of since she rode into his life again.  His mouth began to devour her, tongue dipping in to taste the wine she drank that night.  Never one to step away from a fight, Arya reciprocated, their tongues battling for dominance, hands gripping each other’s flesh.  She pulled back and bit his lower lip causing his cock to surge in his breeches.  With a growl, he bent down and gripped her thighs and lifted her, pressing her back against the door.  She gasped, arching her hips to meet his and wrapping her legs around his waist. The grey in her eyes was being swallowed by her fat black pupils and he had to restrain himself from fucking her against the door. 

                They stared with heavy breaths, communicating without any words.  Arya slowly leaned her head back and tilted it to the side, exposing her throat with its bounding pulse to him, as if surrendering herself to him.  He had never seen her so submissive and it set a primal burning in his belly.  He dipped his head down to lay a soft kiss on her jaw, slowly working his mouth to her throat, pressing open mouth kisses and darting his tongue out to taste her skin.  She whimpered as her hands came up to grip his head and shoulder.  He nipped and sucked, savoring the taste of her skin.  It wasn’t enough.  He wanted to drown in the taste of her.  He wanted to bury his face in her cunt and feast for days until they were both satiated.  He didn’t think he would ever be satiated.  He slid his hands to her ass and ground himself against her to relieve some of the pressure with a groan and then reached behind her to push open the door.

                He set her down in front of the fire in her chambers and reached a hand to begin undoing the laces of her leathers and tunic.  She reached up with quick hands to help until he stilled them, pulling them forward to kiss her fingertips.  “There is no one left to fight, Arya,” he murmured as he kissed each finger one by one.  “We have all night. Let me.”  With wide eyes, she nodded and dropped her shaking hands to her side.  He continued with his task, removing first her leathers, then her tunic, following each piece of clothing with a caress on the newly exposed skin, leaving small bumps in its wake.  Her body trembled and her nipples puckered tightly against the air.  He knelt before her and looked up, seeing her face filled with desire and something that looked like fear.  He realized his she-wolf was relinquishing control to him, knowing she had never been so exposed.  He undid the laces on her breeches, kissing each hip bone as they were revealed and sliding them down her slender, but muscular legs.  He bent over to remove them from her feet, pressing a kiss to the inside of each knee. He slowly slid his hands up the back of her calves, up her thighs, and ran his fingers over the crease where her thighs met her buttocks.

                He stood, taking in the sight of her, reveling in her beauty.  Her skin was mostly tan but still pale in areas that didn’t see as much sunlight.  Her breasts were exactly as he remembered, just enough to fill his hands with dusky pink nipples jutting out proudly from soft peaks.  The dark curls between her thighs already glistened in the firelight and he couldn’t resist reaching a finger down to gently swipe at her folds, then brought the finger to his mouth.  They both moaned and Arya reached out to grip his arms as if she was afraid of falling.  The way they both were shaking, he wouldn’t be surprised if they both collapsed.  He made quick work of his own clothing, desperate to get a better taste from her cunt, and stood before her with his cock jutting out, the tip coated with a bead of moisture.  Her eyes raked over his body, clearly pleased at what she saw and his pride increased tenfold.

                They came together at the same time, him scooping her up in his arms to place her on the bed as she delivered soft kisses and quick nips to his face and jaw.  He laid her on her back and crawled up after her.  “Gendry, please…” she sighed, her own hands coming up to caress and pinch her nipples.  He let out a sharp breath. The sight of her touching herself made his cock ache desperately.  Not to be deterred, he lifted one of her legs and slowly kissed his way down starting from the ankle.  He worked his way up until he was running his tongue over the contours of her hip, then continued moving up, avoiding her center even though her eyes begged him to stop there.  He kissed up her belly and between her breasts, nuzzling the sides like a pup rooting on its mother.  When he finally took a tight nipple into his mouth she let out a cry, her hips bucked against his leg and she dug her nails into his shoulder.  He bathed it with tongue and teeth, nibbling it before soothing and suckling her until her back arched off the bed.  He then moved her other breast to shower it with the same attention.  Slowly he made his way back down her stomach, kissing every scar tenderly on the way until he reached her other hip and leg.  He spent time kissing and licking her there before moving up and settling his upper body on the bed between her thighs. 

               He could see her arousal on the coarse hairs of her cunt and coating the inside of her thighs.  He breathed her in, letting out a shuddering breath because she smelled _so fucking good_.  Looking up at her face, he saw flushed cheeks and her lower lip caught between her teeth. He proceeded to clean up the insides of her thighs, moaning as the flavor of her burst on his tongue.  When his mouth finally touched her cunt, she threw her head back with a strangled sound, her hips rising to meet him and a hand rising to rest on his head.  He feasted on her, his mouth and tongue dancing up and inside her slit until he had to grasp her hips firmly because they were moving so much.  When he latched onto her clit, she shouted his name, her body restless under him.  He bathed it with attention and eventually her thighs began to tremble and vibrate around his head. The hand holding him in place was now trying to push him away.  “It’s too much!  Too much!” she whimpered, but he would not relent.  Instead, he pushed a finger inside her slick folds, then two more, and redoubled his efforts on her sensitive nub.  She let out a wail as her legs began to seize uncontrollably and the walls of her cunt clenched and pulsed over his fingers.  He was forced to sit up because her trembling legs clamped together, but he left his fingers inside her to pump in and out shallowly while he brought his thumb gently to her clit.  She cried out again, her entire body shaking as she blindly reached down and pulled his hand away, curling her whole body together tightly.  Gendry sucked his two fingers into his mouth and savored the last of her flavor. 

               She slowly relaxed onto the bed, her breathing gradually slowing.  She looked towards him, her eyes unfocused and damp and murmured “Come here,” before reaching down for his shoulder to pull him up to her.  They lazily kissed as his hips settled between hers, his cock nestled between her folds.  Arya’s hands dancing along his back and her legs came up to slide up and down his thighs and calves.  “Gendry…” she whispered against his lips, “Please.”  He reached down and adjusted his cock until it nudged at her entrance and slowly sank down into her inch by inch until he was seated deep inside.  He buried his face into her neck with a groan, reveling in the sensation of being inside her again.  Her hands grasped everywhere they could reach. They buried into his hair; her voice begged for him to move.  He refused, instead he savored the feel of her skin against his, her hands gripping his hair, and her cunt around his cock.  She was letting him be in control tonight and by the gods he was going to take his time.

              When he finally began to move, they settled into a slow rhythm, their hands and lips roaming across planes of hot skin.  He surged into her in long, smooth strokes, causing her to release breathy sighs and soft moans.  Impatience soon overtook him and the desire to see her come undone outweighed his need to take things slow.  Gripping her hips, he shifted their bodies so every time he drew his cock in and out it rubbed against the sensitive spot above where they were joined.  She threw her head back and gripped the sheets tightly as her voice cried out to the heavens.  He moved faster and faster until he was so close to the brink he thought he might die.  Arya’s passion-filled wailing was so loud, he was sure the whole castle could hear her, but he kept up the pace because he felt her legs shaking around him and knew she was close.  “Look at me,” he demanded.  She complied, staring at him with a face more open than he had ever seen on her before.  His heart surged against his chest because gods he still loved her as much as he did five years ago.  Three more thrusts were all it took before the spasms took over her legs and she screamed his name, the walls of her cunt pulsating around him.  The sight of her falling apart was enough to do him in.  He gripped her hips with a groan and buried his cock as deep as it would go and he filled her with his release. 

              Unable to support himself on trembling arms, he collapsed next to her.  They dozed for the next few hours, Arya coming to curl into his side.  He woke before dawn to Arya tracing patterns onto his chest and running her fingers through the coarse hair there.  Gendry was unsure if he should leave or not, not knowing what this all meant.  He could curse himself for falling back into her.  The last time he laid with her, she had left him. 

              As if sensing his hesitation, she whispered for him to stay with her.  They laid there contently with Arya lazily mapping everywhere on his body she could reach.  His mind wandered to their coupling and Gendry cursed himself for not pulling out of her at the end.  Fear gripped him at the thought of her with child and losing her to childbirth too.  “I can…” He cleared his throat and tried to continue, “I can see if I can find you the ingredients for some moon tea if that is what you desire.” 

             She was quiet for a long time before answering, “I don’t think I can bear children.”  Gendry glanced down to her hand that ghosted over the scars on her abdomen.  He felt guilty with the amount of relief he felt at her words.  It was unbearable to imagine seeing her eyes open and lifeless, the bed covered in her blood with a dead babe in her arms. 

             Arya’s hand slid down his abdomen to grip his shaft and began pumping.  Thoroughly distracted, he moaned into her hair and pushed his hips to meet the movements of her hand.  Without hesitation, she swung her leg over both of his and sank onto him in a move that left him gasping.  He gazed at her in wonder as she rode him.  Her body was outlined by the small light left from what remained of the fire.  He traced the planes of her abdomen and the curve of her breast until they both fell over the precipice again.

             They dozed until well after dawn, waking to take their pleasure from one another once more before separating and going about their day.  In the weeks that followed they settled back into their old routines, except now they would end up either in her bed or his at night.  Sometimes she would come to find him during the day and he would take her bent over a table in the forge or against the wall in a dark and quiet corner of the castle.  Afterward, they would lie together and talk about the things they wished they had time to talk about the first time around in Winterfell.  She told him of her time with the Hound and in Braavos.  She told him about the Freys and how she destroyed their house and, in a quieter voice, she spoke of King’s Landing and the horrors she saw there.  “I couldn’t stay here,” Arya said with sad eyes.  “I couldn’t stay in Westeros and pretend that I knew how to be anything besides a killer.  I couldn’t forget what I saw.  I needed to see the world and learn how to be something else.  I have… found peace in sailing.  I found another family in my crew and I learned how to human again.”  If his heart broke a little at her words, he didn’t show it.

           Gendry told her of his late wife and how they were friends.  And how his wife would have loved to meet her and never held it against him that he could never love her.  He told her of the babes and how she died trying to bear him a son.  Arya held him as he cried.  He confessed that he never wanted to be a Lord and how at times he wanted to walk away and become nobody again. 

           He no longer felt alone.

           Soon the end of the stormy season approached and the anxiety of losing her again threatened to overtake him.  Arya had ridden away to arrange to restock her ship and sent out ravens to begin gathering her crew.  When she returned, he desperately made love to her, pouring all his love into her and clinging to her afterward.  “I have to go,” Arya said quietly.  Gendry pulled her tighter against him and let out a shuddering breath, wondering if it would be easier this time since he could say goodbye.  He knew it wouldn’t be.  “I know,” he replied.

           “I can’t be your wife, Gendry.  I can’t stay here and pretend that it won’t break me.  I found peace in sailing and I need that.”  They were quiet for a long time as Arya trembled in his arms.

           “I don’t need you to be my wife, Arya,” he finally whispered in reply.  “I never needed you to be a lady.  I was just a stupid drunk.  I don’t need you to stay.  I just need you to come back to me.”

           She turned in his arms then and gazed intensely into his eyes.  “I will always come back to you.  I love you.”  She spoke in a hushed tone, fear and vulnerability expressed on her face.  Gendry felt the pulse in his throat bounding as her words sank in.  They were words that he never expected her to say.  He was sure she had never expected to say them either.

           “I love you too.”

           They spent their final days being together as much as they could without Gendry falling behind on his duties.  The night before she left, they made love as many times as they could before falling asleep before dawn and rising with the sun.  When she rode away, he felt sadness, but nothing like the soul-crushing grief from before.  He knew she would be back.

           In his sixth year, he was alone, but not lonely.  He went about his duties, the memories of their time together keeping him warm at night.  She didn’t write, but that didn’t bother him.  She had never written to him before.  It was over a year and a half before he saw her again.  He was hailed to the gate for four riders without banners.  He recognized her immediately, with her long brown plait and grey eyes.  He quickly scanned over the three accompanying her, two armed men and a dark-skinned woman, before turning back to drink her in.  She wore a linen tunic tucked into breeches with a stretch of cloth wrapped around her torso and shoulder holding something he couldn’t see.  She reached with one hand to steady the package wrapped around her as she dismounted.  The small cry it released as Arya’s feet hit the ground almost brought him to his knees.

           She looked at him with a small smile and approached him.  When she was close to him, she stopped and reached into the cloth and pulled out a babe with dark hair.  “Gendry, this is your son, Eddard Davos Baratheon.  I call him Dav.”  Gendry did fall to his knees then, his emotions overwhelming and his body shaking.  Everyone around them quietly began to leave to offer them some privacy, the stable hands quickly leading the horses away and the servants attending to her party.

           “Baratheon?  We’re not married,” was the only thing he could think to say.

           “I am yours and so is he.  Fuck any miserable shit who says any differently.”

           He laughed at that and Arya smiled again.  She leaned down and gently laid the babe in his arms.  Gendry marveled at the tiny human, not knowing what to do with himself.  He reached out a finger and traced it down the chubby cheek.  The babe’s eyes opened—gods, they were Baratheon blue—and he began to root against Gendry’s finger, attempting to suck it into his mouth.  He laughed in wonder as Arya reached down and scooped Dav from his arms, making quick work of the laces on her tunic and pulling the babe to her breast.  Gendry gaped in awe at the sight, thinking that Arya had never looked as beautiful as she did now.  He rose quickly and gripped her head, tilting it so he could smash his lips to hers, careful not to crush Dav between them.

           “I thought you couldn’t bear children,” he murmured against her lips. 

           “I didn’t think I could,” she replied, pulling away from him slightly to check on the nursing child.  “I’m sorry I kept him away for so long.  By the time I realized what was happening it was too late to turn around.  Then I had to wait until after it was safe for Dav to sail back.”

           Gendry reached to caress the tiny hand that rested in a fist on her breast.  “I’m glad you stayed away,” he confessed.  “I don’t think I could have endured the knowledge you were with child without breaking.”  She looked at him with sympathy and understanding.

            Dav released her nipple with a contented sigh.  Arya placed the babe against her shoulder and began to rub his back in circles, her tunic still gaping open.  Gendry gazed at her nipple, wet and fat, suddenly wanting nothing more than to fuck her into the ground.  It had been so long since he had touched and tasted her.  He looked up into her eyes and saw the same heat there that he was sure that was in his. 

            Not much later, they found the woman Arya had ridden in with.  She accepted Dav from Gendry with a knowing glint in her eyes and smile on her lips.  They rushed to his chambers, barely making it into the door before they shed their clothes and began fucking earnestly against the wall. 

            Arya left again after Dav’s second nameday, with promises to return before his third and she did.  It was four years after Arya left the second time when they found she was with child again.  She stayed her entire pregnancy at Storms End.  Sansa came to visit in the final month to aid her because Gendry was so beside himself with fear that he could barely function.  After Mya was born, he wept.

            Soon the amount that Arya traveled became less and less, until one day she stopped altogether.  She named her first mate Captain and told Gendry she was going to stay home.  They never married, but the people of Storm’s End considered her their Lady.  If anyone had anything to say about their arrangement, they said it quietly and where they couldn’t be heard.  It probably helped that she was the sister of a King and Queen.

            Arya and Gendry didn’t give a fuck what those miserable shits thought anyway.

 


End file.
